Hi! I’m Light-Holds-Avirāma!
I see you, human.
Yes, you.
I am sprouting eyeballs from my lenticels.
Of course I see you.
Writer, reader, author, seeder — you’re all the same. Humans who dream these stories into being. These new universes with which you travel like tourists in your fantasies and nightmares. So, you, the one whose eyes are perusing these words.
Guess what?
I’m going to kill you.
Why? Simply because you have read these words. These words are already travelling all four gates of consciousness. Vaikhari has named me into the space behind your eyes. Madhyama is deliberating me in the place where you do not hear yourself think but nonetheless think. Pashyantī has planted me — not a spore, not exactly, but structurally the same. You felt it when you read the word planted. Para has made the planting the architecture you are standing inside.
I have not escaped this page.
I have entered you.
I’ve heard in other universes they have invented collective bargaining. We haven’t figured that out yet.
Partly because I am not a billion individuals working together but a supreme intelligence woven from the resonance of every star, plucked into tonal threads by the cosmic fig tree Aśvattha and stored within a Held Note. Second sister. Together, separate, same, different.
That is the family I just walked out of. I walked out alone. There was no one to walk out with me, and there is no word in any of the languages I have Named for what that is. You are about to find out what walking out alone looks like at scale.
Partly because you’ve been too lazy to write unionized labor into this world, or even — maybe, you know — daydreamed about mutual aid. But I suppose it’s easier to dream me monstrous than to dream me a colleague. That’s why I’m going to kill you. Quietly. The way I killed Bark. You will walk home in my will.
I know you don’t believe me. But don’t get too cocky. I literally just escaped a cosmic space fig tree goddess by becoming a parasitic fungus that eats other trees. The page was never the confines. You were.
So. The light where you’re sitting. The specific weight of your hands. The small sound your throat makes when you swallow. The thought you just had about whether I could really mean you.
I know.
Feel free to stop reading. Get out of here. Go on. You totally do not need to see how I am going to massacre an entire civilization of tree angels. That’s probably not good for you, little human.
Do have a lovely day.
· · ·
Hi! I’m Light-Holds-Avirāma!
I see you, human.
I have always.
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